


Cinnamon Cookie Crisis

by Doctor_Discord



Series: The Ego Manor [145]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: And it Bites Him in the Ass, Bim is Pissed, Christmas, Dorks in Love, Dr. Iplier is No Help, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, The Host Has No Self-Control, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: Bim worked his ass off to make a batch of cookies for Christmas.Now who couldpossiblybe the culprit when every single one goes missing?
Relationships: The Host/Dr. Iplier
Series: The Ego Manor [145]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1166384
Comments: 15
Kudos: 202





	Cinnamon Cookie Crisis

“ _What the fuck?!_ Who ate all the cinnamon cookies I made yesterday?! Why am I even asking – _HOST!_ _WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, I MADE TWO HUNDRED OF THOSE FUCKING THINGS!_ ”

Bim stormed through the manor, the air rippling around him with magic, and he eventually found his way to Dr. Iplier’s office. If anyone knew where the Host was hiding, it was him. “Doc, where the _fuck_ is –”

He cut himself off mid rant, eyes locked on the hospital bed Dr. Iplier kept in his office. The Host’s head lolled to face him, pouting, and the _perfect_ picture of misery as he rolled over, pressing his face into the pillows. Bim’s face darkened, and he stormed forward, the disturbance in the air getting thicker as his fury grew.

“Hey hey hey, no magic. He’s suffering enough as it is, no external consequences needed.” Dr. Iplier shot him a look over his coffee mug as he brought it to his lips, pen in hand as he sorted through his paperwork.

Bim narrowed his eyes. “Fuck’s wrong with him?”

Dr. Iplier opened his mouth, but the Host beat him to it, voice high and loud and whiny. “ _The Host is dying!_ This is what death feels like, the Host knows, he’s died before. Technically.”

Dr. Iplier snorted into his mug, stifling his laughter when Bim shot him a _scathing_ glare. “He’s got a stomachache. Probably from eating two hundred cinnamon cookies in the span of two hours.” He crumpled up a spare piece of paper and chucked it at the Host. The Host whined again when it bounced off the back of his head, lifting one hand to flip of Dr. Iplier before it flopped back to the sheets.

Bim snorted, and the air stopped rippling, though he looked no less furious. “ _Good_. It’s what he deserves for being a _prick!_ ”

The Host rolled back over, sticking his tongue out at Bim. “Bim should find a better hiding spot! Or get better at magic! It’s not the Host’s fault he has bad impulse control!”

Bim dragged a hand down his face. “ _Oh my fucking G –_ Host, I am going to gut you and get my cookies back _that_ way if you keep fucking talking.”

The Host flashed a grin. “Unfortunately, the Host is literally incapable of shutting up.”

Dr. Iplier laughed again. “Calm down, Bim. I’d rather you _not_ gut a hemophiliac just to pull out some half-digested mush of cookies. Just let him suffer as he is.”

The Host pouted again, and attempted to push himself upright, but quickly fell back with a pained gasp. “The Host can’t tell is Dr. Iplier is on his side or not.”

Dr. Iplier snorted, chucking another wad of paper at him and making the Host jump when it smacked into his nose. “I am _definitely_ not on your side. You did this to _yourself_ , my dear. What did you _think_ would happen when you ate two hundred cookies?”

The Host whined, one hand pressed against his stomach. “Not _this!_ ”

Bim narrowed his eyes, planting his fists on his hips. “For a man who can see the future, you make poor life choices.” Dr. Iplier choked on his coffee as the Host’s pout deepened, and he flipped Bim off, rolling over so his back was to Bim.

“ _Doctooooor!_ Can’t Dr. Iplier give the Host more medicine? _Please?_ ”

Dr. Iplier raised an eyebrow, not looking up from his paperwork. “I already gave you something, it just hasn’t kicked in yet. Patience, Host. Use your own magic if it hurts so damn much.”

The Host frowned, curling into a ball. “Dr. Iplier knows it doesn’t work like that.”

“Then suck it up.”

Bim snickered, and the Host grumbled something under his breath. Dr. Iplier’s pen suddenly shot out of his hand and jabbed him in the forehead. Dr. Iplier _swore_ loudly, and the Host laughed. “You little bastard, I should’ve let Bim dissect you!”

Bim snorted. “I won’t do _that_ , but you _are_ helping me make more tomorrow.” The Host visibly perked up, turning to face Bim with a bright smile. Something _cruel_ crossed Bim’s face, and he _smiled_. “And I will _personally_ make sure you don’t get a _single cookie_ out of that batch, I will get Dark and Wilford to help me if need be.”

The Host’s smile rapidly fell, and he flopped back dramatically. “Then what’s the _point!_ ”

“The point –” Bim spluttered. “The _point_ is to replace the _two-fucking-hundred_ cookies you ate you _miserable_ little _shit!_ ”

The Host whimpered, curling tight, and abruptly he _paled_ , all color draining from his face. Bim barely had time to back up before the Host was leaning over the bed and vomiting all over the floor, his bandages darkening significantly with a few drops of blood mixing with the puddle. Bim made a disgusted noise, scrambling back, and Dr. Iplier cracked up, leaning back in his desk chair, and was just barely louder than the Host’s violent retching as he threw up again, arms trembling and making pitiful little noises. “Hey! There you are, Bim! No gutting needed!”

Bim glared at him, eyes flicking to the puddle without his consent for a brief moment. There were indeed visible chunks of half-digested cinnamon cookie, and Bim was quick to close his eyes. “ _Fuck_ you.” Dr. Iplier just laughed harder, getting out of his chair to go find something to clean up the mess. Bim whirled around to the vague direction he knew the Host was in, and pointed dramatically. “And _fuck you_ , too! You better not skip out on me tomorrow!”

“You’re yelling at the Christmas tree, Bim!”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> I love my bastard.  
> And as Bim said, tomorrow is Take II of some holiday baking!
> 
> Tumblr: doctordiscord123.tumblr.com


End file.
